


lay your head

by radialarch



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Collars, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: Byleth's had his share of command, but Dimitri's obedience is intoxicating. Maybe it's how eager he is to please, the way he throws his whole body into anything Byleth asks. Maybe it's the sheer breathtaking contrast of all that strength, offered up for Byleth to do with as he will. Or maybe it's just Dimitri. That prince Byleth met years ago, with grief in his chest where Byleth had a stone. They've both changed, and now Dimitri is standing here in front of him with a tremble in his throat."Tell me what you need," Byleth says, reaching up to press his thumb to Dimitri's plush lower lip. "What you came for.""Anything you want to give me," says Dimitri, with the sweetest break in his voice. "I wanted to see you."
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Male Byleth
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	lay your head

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on @ahkmeow's [incredible art](https://twitter.com/ahkmeow/status/1290117653776891904), which whammied me so far over the head i uhh wrote fic about it. cry about it with me, they're so soft and good.

Byleth's not there to watch as Dimitri rides up to the gates of Garreg Mach, which means the first he hears of it is when a messenger boy runs up panting to announce, "The king has arrived."

Formal visits generally take weeks to arrange. Has Byleth forgotten something? "Who's with him?" he asks, pushing the report he'd been reading to one side. "We can find accommodations for his retinue—"

"He's alone, Your Holiness," says the messenger. "He said he needed to see you."

Ah. Now he understands. "I'll receive him here," he says. "Show him up, and then let the guard know we're not to be disturbed."

"Yes, Your Holiness," the messenger says again, and then retreats with a deep bow. He's tried to get them to not call him that, but the argument's always long and tedious. While he's waiting, he picks the report back up. Might as well get some work done.

It's a few minutes before the door to his office opens again, and then shuts. Byleth deliberately keeps his eyes on the report, listening for sounds of fidgeting. Mostly, Dimitri is quiet. He doesn't attempt to approach, and Byleth spends a moment to imagine what Dimitri's doing with his hands before he lets himself look up.

No matter how well Byleth thinks he remembers, Dimitri in person is always a shock. They might go for moons without seeing each other, and Dimitri here, now, is so much more than the faded version in his memories: tall, broad, the golden gleam of his hair. His hands are curled loosely at his side, and his gaze is fixed on the carpet. Lovely. Beautiful.

"Good," he says, and some of the tension in Dimitri's shoulders seeps away. "Come here."

Byleth's had his share of command, but Dimitri's obedience is intoxicating. Maybe it's how eager he is to please, the way he throws his whole body into anything Byleth asks. Maybe it's the sheer breathtaking contrast of all that strength, offered up for Byleth to do with as he will. Or maybe it's just Dimitri. That prince Byleth met years ago, with grief in his chest where Byleth had a stone. They've both changed, and now Dimitri is standing here in front of him with a tremble in his throat.

"Tell me what you need," Byleth says, reaching up to press his thumb to Dimitri's plush lower lip. "What you came for."

"Anything you want to give me," says Dimitri, with the sweetest break in his voice. "I wanted to see you."

Fuck, if that's not enough to make Byleth put Dimitri on his knees and take his mouth, right here. "So here you are," he murmurs, and makes up his mind. "I'm going to get something for you." He doesn't miss the soft noise Dimitri makes when he lets go of his face, and then he considers Dimitri's travel clothes, cloak wrapped tight around him and boots dusty from the road. "Get comfortable," he says. "And then wait for me."

Dimitri's good at waiting. It takes Byleth a scant moment to find what he needs in the adjoining chambers, but he counts out seconds in his head, drawing it out. His office is quiet when he comes back through the doors. Dimitri is kneeling naked by his desk, and Byleth's chest is caving in.

"Oh, _sweetheart_ ," he says, is next to Dimitri in three long strides. Dimitri's clothes are folded neatly beside him, the boots set by the door. He strokes his fingers through Dimitri's fine hair, tugs until Dimitri looks up. He took off the eyepatch, too—there's the scar that cuts clean across the eye, and the other one is very blue, very bright, fighting to focus on Byleth's face. "That's good, that's perfect." He strokes a finger across Dimitri's cheekbone, and Dimitri's mouth opens, wet, gorgeous.

"Not yet," Byleth says, with real regret. But he wants to give Dimitri this. Dimitri goes willingly when Byleth presses head gently back down, and through his hair Byleth can see the pale skin of his nape. It makes his mouth water as he tugs the collar from its wrappings.

Dimitri makes a noise of surprise when the leather slides across his skin, and then another one, hoarser, a flush springing across his shoulders. Byleth buckles it on without teasing, not too snug, with enough give that he can fit two fingers between the collar and the column of Dimitri's throat. "There," he says. The leather's dark and gleaming, and it moves when Dimitri swallows. "How does that feel?"

It takes Dimitri a moment to answer. The first time he does, the words come out formless, too rough to decipher. Byleth waits with his palm pressed to the gentle curve of Dimitri's spine, and Dimitri tries again, fighting for it. "Good, it's good."

He waits another moment, while Dimitri's chest heaves. "I thought it would look lovely on you," he says. He thinks of Dimitri often, when they're apart, and makes up for it by hoarding gifts. He crouches down, leans in. Close enough to feel Dimitri's breath on his face; close enough to kiss. "Come, now. What do you say?"

Dimitri's shuddering with every breath. His mouth parts. He looks at Byleth, dazed, then drops his gaze. "Thank you, sir." It's as devastating as a knife.

Has Dimitri been waiting for this? He's called him professor, archbishop, _beloved_ with so much warmth that it made something burn in Byleth's chest. Now he's alight in a new way, fire in his blood. He asked what he could give Dimitri, and instead Dimitri gave this to _him_. 

"Good boy," he manages before he tugs Dimitri in by the collar and crushes their mouths together. Dimitri opens up for him, the way he's always done. Byleth's not holy, no matter the color of his hair or the Crest in his blood, but when Dimitri's panting harsh and quick into his mouth he feels like he could be.

He reaches down between Dimitri's thighs, gets the slick hot length of his cock in his fist. Dimitri's waited so long, been so good. He brings Dimitri off in short, quick strokes, feeling the muscle of his thigh jerk against his wrist. When he lays the side of his head to the sweat-sheened expanse of Dimitri's chest, there's Dimitri's heartbeat, alive and frantic.

"There you are," Byleth croons, nonsense words in his mouth. "Come on, give it up for me, let me see you." He tugs at the collar again, one finger laid beneath the leather against the beat of Dimitri's pulse, and there it is: a low grunt pulled from Dimitri's chest, his eye squeezed shut, the aborted stutter of his hip. Byleth twists his wrist, lets his sword calluses run over the head of Dimitri's cock, turns and presses a kiss right over the pounding of his heart. Follows with his teeth, for Dimitri to remember him by.

When Dimitri comes over Byleth's hand it's with something like a sob. "Please," he says, with damp eyelashes, and Byleth lifts his hand and lets Dimitri swallow the seed from between his fingers.

It usually takes Dimitri some time to collect himself. Byleth considers the merits of sending him to his own bed, while he finishes up the day's work. The heat of his own cock is present, but bearable, and it's nice to know that something will be waiting for him.

But Dimitri catches hold of Byleth's hand when he reaches for the buckle of the collar. "Can I—" he says. He's still flushed pink, his hair damp at his temple. Byleth wants to devour him whole. "Let me stay."

Something's happening inside Byleth's chest: an explosion, or something close. " _Dimitri_."

Dimitri looks straight at him, with that one blue piercing eye. "I'll be good," he says. Then he smiles. Byleth's always been weak to that smile.

The afternoon sun sends long shadows across the carpet. Byleth finishes the report he'd been reading, and starts on another. Dimitri's been kneeling for a long time; he hasn't made a sound.

Byleth lets his hand fall from the arm of his chair, to rest at the top of Dimitri's head. After a moment's thought, he curls his fingers, scratches lightly through the hair just the way Dimitri likes.

A low noise from Dimitri, and then a slow pressure at the side of Byleth's knee where Dimitri's laid his head. His eye is closed, his face smooth. He's still not wearing a thing, save the collar.

Byleth never asked to be what he is: a mercenary, a professor, the archbishop of a church he doesn't even believe in. But this, Dimitri, giving himself over into Byleth's hands—he tries to deserve that. To get it right.

He lays a hand where the collar meets the knob of Dimitri's spine. He waits for the soft sigh before he turns the page.


End file.
